


Lonely Christmas

by bluedelilah



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Charlie is your bf, F/M, Food, Just sad shit, No Fluff, No Smut, No part of this is happy, Not A Happy Ending, Smoking, christmas day, implied sex, sad charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedelilah/pseuds/bluedelilah
Summary: You keep Charlie company during his first Christmas without Henry.//This is not a cute story. Really, it's just depressing. That's what I enjoy writing lmao. If you struggle with lonely holidays, I would proceed with caution, seeing as that is the theme of the whole thing.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Lonely Christmas

Christmas mornings tended to feel extra warm. There's some factor of childish giddiness and nostalgia. The sheets beneath you felt softer, more inviting then any other typical day. Getting out of bed seemed more of a luxury than a challenge. Though the slumbering man next to you made a lazy morning more compelling. 

Charlie's eyes were fluttering slightly in his sleep. His hair was messy and ruffled, a chaotic crown of strands spread over his pillow. His lips were pouty and swollen, completely tempting. You gave in and settled yourself on your elbow to lean over and leave one unhurried peck. He stirred slightly, jaw twitching, shoulders shifting. You smiled to yourself and repeated your action, providing a gentler wake up than his alarm would. This time your kiss seemed sweet enough to pull him from his slumber. 

"Hmm," he hummed, repositioning himself against his pillowcase. 

"It's Christmas," you whispered and reached your fingers out to brush through his waves. At this, Charlie opened his eyes, but they didn't find yours. He focused on the wall behind you, a fog of thought clouding his pupils. 

You knew why. Nicole had Charlie today. On Christmas. It was Charlie's first Christmas without his son, and he was mourning the normalcy he had lost. 

"Want me to make coffee?" you said under your breath, hoping to pull him from his devastation. 

His eyes found yours as if they had only just remembered you were there at all. "Sure. Thanks, sweetheart."

-

You knew how his coffee machine worked by now, and your muscle memory took over as you pulled out a filter and added water. For most, spending Christmas with a partner was intimate. You had only been with Charlie a month, but seeing as neither of you had much family to be with, being in each other's company for this holiday made sense. Charlie was enthusiastic enough about things like this that you expected a nice day, hopefully more peaceful than hectic. 

The feeling of fingers against your back made you flinch, but you smiled when you realized it was only him. His lips met your neck in a collection of slow kisses, and you let your back melt against his chest, relaxing against his frame of safety. The coffee streamed, echoing a steady pattering noise, and the scent filled the room as Charlie said good morning with his lips. 

-

The task of getting ready for the day was more challenging than you had expected. Charlie couldn't keep his hands to himself. His fingers kept finding your tits, massaging them through the loose cotton of your shirt. The hem of your underwear was crossed many a time, until eventually shed all together. Once on the bed, then the shower, then the bathroom counter. You wished he was just desperate, just in love, just excited by the occasion of today, but you were positive his stamina stemmed from a source of mourning rather than lust. Charlie wanted a distraction and you were the only one available. 

Opening presents in the morning seemed like the type of thing you would do on typical family Christmases. You hoped to keep the day somewhat close to what Charlie would do if Henry had been here. Perhaps, then the pain of being apart from his son would sting less. 

Charlie made you go first. You wondered if Henry usually went first. Probably. You sat on the floor, next to the coffee table and smiled nervously as you neatly tore at the seams of the wrapped gift. Perfume. A nice one too--he had surely spent a generous sum. It seemed an appropriate gift for one month of dating and you grinned sweetly and thanked him with several long kisses. He looked a little out of it. He kept looking around the room like something was missing, which you supposed it was. 

He liked his gift, as far as you could tell. A nice wallet. What else were you meant to get a man you didn't completely understand yet?

Breakfast was spent at a cafe down the street. It was surprisingly busy, which Charlie found obnoxious. 

"These people should be home with their families," he said between sips of coffee. You wondered if he was referring to himself as well. 

You ordered hot chocolate with no whipped cream. He ridiculed the choice--"Everyone likes whipped cream."

"I don't like it on warm things," you defended. 

"Henry loves it."

There was silence after that. 

There was a moment when you returned to his apartment, and the lights were all off, and no one else was there. It smelled like a house, no candles or cookies, just dry wall and dust. It was overwhelmingly lonely, the walls sitting there without light or noise to absorb, and you quickly flicked on the switch and pulled at the string of the blinds. Then the room was brighter, but not any less isolating. 

Charlie was a far better cook than you. He seemed to be able to organize the timing of the dishes in his mind. You, on the other hand, had to keep rereading the recipes, confused on which step came next. He assigned you to the mashed potatoes, which was enough, while he worked on everything else. He didn't seem to mind. He looked the most content you had seen him yet today, while he checked the oven repeatedly and buttered the rolls. 

You weren't sure you had ever sat down at a table for Christmas dinner. Growing up, Christmas didn't mean much, or at least not many traditions or celebrations were carried out. Dinner had usually been takeout consumed on the couch. Charlie put on a Christmas record to keep the silence from injecting the evening with too much solemn feeling. There was the scrape of forks against plates, and the attempt at regular, upbeat conversation. Charlie was trying, which was nice, but still there was a misery beneath his small talk. 

After dinner you made cookies. Charlie let you do it all, telling you the measurements of each ingredient so that you could add them to the bowl. He mixed the dough when your arms got tired, and there was a small smile taunting his lips. While they baked, you both cleaned up, washing the dishes and clearing the counter. When the kitchen was clean enough to please Charlie's conscious, he hoisted you onto the counter and found your lips with his. He thrust into you until the timer went off. You had never stopped sex for cookies before, but it seemed good enough reason now. 

Every year, Charlie and his family watches a movie Christmas night. This year, for just the two of you, Charlie said he wanted to ditch that tradition. You weren't sure the reason behind his abandonment of the routine. Maybe, the day had been too much like Christmases with his family. Maybe that's what he didn't want. 

Instead, you sat on the couch, a plate of warm, chocolatey cookies on your lap. Charlie read aloud from some book you didn't care to know the name of. His voice was deep and tired. You couldn't ignore the twinge of apathy in it as he spoke each sentence. Every once in a while, he'd pause, look up to some random spot in the room, and then keep going as if he hadn't stopped at all. 

He read the first chapter while you listened patiently. He let the last word dangle in the air for minutes before he stood and crossed to where his coat hung on the wall. He slid his arms through as you perked up, watching his actions and wondering his intention. 

"Join me?" he asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. 

The outside air was humid and cool, at least the coolest LA will ever get. You sat side by side against the rough concrete of the porch stairs, sharing the gray smoky air around you. Charlie was quiet, staring at the street, watching occasional cars rush by. His mind was elsewhere and you knew exactly where that was. 

"This was a good Christmas," you whispered, tapping away the darkening embers on the lip of the steps. 

Charlie inhaled a long, slow, draw. You wondered if he was stalling. 

"Yes," was the only reply he could offer. 

-

You got ready for bed the same way as always. Charlie liked for you to stay the night, sometimes for a few days in a row. At first you thought he must have just really liked you, but now you knew it was because he was lonely. 

The sheets felt extra cold tonight, prodding goosebumps to rise over your arms and legs. Charlie laid beside you on his back, the outline of his nose visible in the dark. 

"I'm glad I got to spend today with you, Charlie," you whispered into the tense, buzzing air. 

"Hmm," he hummed. You could see the movement of his eyelashes closing with each slow blink. "Me too."

"I'm sorry about Henry."

His Adam's apple bobbed and his chest seemed to freeze, no longer moving with his breath. 

"It wasn't the same without him." His voice was thick with something like anguish, and your stomach stirred. 

"I know. I'm sorry."

A month with Charlie had been rocky. He often lost himself to this strange place of grief, mourning what used to be, but you ignored it. The truth was Charlie needed someone to fill the gaps, and you needed someone to make you feel needed. It wouldn't last long. Things like this never could. You were using each other, draining the other of everything they could give. Eventually you'd both run out and part ways. Maybe, it would be best to end it before you felt empty. But it was Christmas, and Charlie didn't get to see his son, and you just wanted to help him get by. Tomorrow, perhaps you'd bring it to the end that was always destined. Perhaps, tomorrow. 


End file.
